One at a Time
by Aietradaea
Summary: The Sixth Doctor may be quite content to pose for a portrait by a race of alien professional painters, but his other selves were not quite so flattered.  Response to a prompt, oneshot, crack.  Can you guess Who's Who?


**Disclaimer:** Don't own Doctor Who, yadda-yadda-yah...

**Warnings:** Nudity. Yep.

**Summary and Excuses:** This was a response to a prompt on the best-enemies anon meme. Probably a bit more genfic than they were hoping for - but hey, plenty of room for imagination, no? An abbreviated version of the original prompt(s):

_Oh, my dear anons, there must be more Six. I should like him to have his portrait done, in a Rubenesque sort of nude sprawl atop that awful coat (with an optional corner over certain bits if you're feeling especially cruel) as a gift for the Master.  
>Oh god. Sorry but my head just went spinning away with this. What if there are artist versions of the Novelisors of Verbatim Six? And as punishment for Three setting the Novelisor on him Delgado some how sent Portraitisers, or something, after ALL the Doctors to draw them like one of their French girls. And the Doctor (all of him) is not amused.<em>

Better not take this one too seriously - just a bit of silliness. Can you guess Who's Who? ;]

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><p>"I must say, you are a <em>most<em> obliging subject!" Practically twittering with delight, the Artiste's fine antennae swept back and forth across the canvas, sending tiny flecks of oil paint in all directions. "And so many _colours_ - oh, I _do_ relish a challenge..." Indeed, the curious creature was surrounded by a positive sea of palettes, and darted between them almost faster than the Doctor's eyes could follow as it strove to capture the decidedly unsubtle hues of the coat that was spread across the seat which the Time Lord now reclined on.

"My other selves have been giving you some trouble, I expect?" the Doctor inquired mildly, keeping his head tilted at what he had convinced himself would present a flattering profile of his nose.

"Oh, not _all_ of them..." Three eyes on slender eyestalks moved back and forth above the easel in an almost mesmerizing movement as the Artiste spoke. "There was that one with the _loveliest_ hair - now he didn't even _have _any clothes when we found him."

"Seemed a bit confused, poor dear," came the voice of a second Artiste from behind the Doctor's chair, and a tentacle reached around to slap at his fingers which were reaching for the bowl of grapes on the table beside him.

"Yes, and there was one who seemed to think we'd been sent by a lady acquaintance of his. We let him keep the bow tie on - he seemed to think it would add character."

"Bow tie?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Short chap, checkered trousers?"

"No, not that one...no, we had some difficulty with that one," the first Artiste tutted.

"_Terribly_ shy," the second agreed. "He got awfully flustered."

"Well, modesty has always been one of my virtues," the Doctor nodded gravely. He shifted almost imperceptibly and only the pincers of the second Artiste behind his chair managed to catch the strategically-placed corner of the coat before it slipped off altogether.

"Ah, but _I_ take pride in capturing the bipedal form!" The Artiste's voice rose with passion and the antennae moved faster. "The product of a life incarnate, the sculpting of nature - well, regeneration in your case... I do _not_," here, it began punctuating its words by jabbing at the canvas, "_care_ for six and a half feet of _wool_ masking the _an-a-tom-y_!" The Doctor hummed his agreement and wriggled again, but the second Artiste's grip remained firm on the corner of the coat.

"We had some difficulty with that older gentleman, didn't we?" the second put in.

"Oh - that would be my first?" the Doctor guessed.

"No, _he_ was almost as gracious as your good self," the first Artiste replied. "We found him during his graduation party. Not the taller one, either. We posed him in a most quaint little Terran vehicle. He did worry so - aliens, he said he could deal with, but he seemed to think some of his colleagues would disapprove."

"Good heavens - what did you tell him?"

"Much the same as the other tall one, now you come to mention it," the Artiste mused. "Fine hair, that one...but oh, he must have a heavy conscience on his soul. He would have paid any price for us to depart and leave that little planet unharmed."

"But that older gentleman - now he _was _a slippery customer..." the second Artiste tried to put in again, but was cut off by a derisive snort from the first.

"Psh! Him? Quantum lock darts and a high-power defabricator." The creature clicked determinedly, and paused before admitting, "There was _one_ who...resisted, shall we say?"

"Took nine of us to hold him down," the second added. "Seemed utterly convinced we were trying to kill him."

"So did that younger one - do you remember? Once he recovered, of course - yes, he was a simple case. Unusually susceptible to cross-species toxins, poisons, sedatives... Wonderful subject, once he was posed, of course - ah, the sun on that hair..."

"So you Artists-" the Doctor began.

"Ar-_tistes_."

"Yes, yes... You must have a few more to go, I suppose?" The Artiste had lowered its antennae, and drew its eyestalks back for a more panoramic view of the now-finished portrait. Its beady eyes swivelled for several seconds - and then, apparently satisfied, it turned to once again address the Doctor.

"The anticipation thrills me," it answered gravely. "You _will_ remember to find yourself another umbrella when you...pass on...won't you? Only, I feel it would make a most practical prop - the sun does glare so on that savage planet, you know..."

"And our client expects only the best results," the second Artiste wittered, scuttling out from behind the chair to join the first.

"Wait - _client_?" The Doctor sat up straight, nearly upsetting the bowl of fruit and losing the coat altogether. "What? Who put you up to this?"

But the Artistes and their canvas were already gone, leaving a bewildered Doctor to hastily gather up his scattered clothes and dive for the cover of a standing screen, hearing the unmistakeable footsteps of Peri heading down the TARDIS corridor.

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><p><strong>THE END<strong>

By Aietradaea

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

Sooo...can you spot them all? No-one's got them all right yet... Hint: _a dime a dozen_. (And they're all completely canon.)


End file.
